Uprising
by WeAretheStarlight
Summary: With the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne shaking Gotham to its core, Oswald Cobblepot, sick of servitude, believes it is now his time to gain power. And in order to rise up, he has to take Fish Mooney down.


**A/N: Oswald Cobblepot is my favorite character on Gotham, so I wanted to experiment with writing his character. Story takes place a little before Gordon and Bullock's first visit to Mooney, and will follow the series as close as possible. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham**

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><p>Oswald Cobblepot stiffened his grip on the umbrella's handle with his slight fingers, making sure to hold it steadily over Fish Mooney's head, shielding her from the Gotham downpour. He, on the other hand, shivered as the bitter rain splattered his hair and shoulders.<p>

Ignoring his own discomfort, Oswald tried to focus on his surroundings: The dark alley behind Mooney's nightclub. The small group of thugs he was a part of. The man shrinking against crumbling brick.

"Now now, Raoul..." Mooney said to the cowering man. She caressed the metal bat she was holding, "I've called this little..._party_ to order for you..."

Oswald stole glances at Mooney, Raoul, and Mooney again. Things were getting intense. Intense for him meant _exhilarating_.

"B-B-But...M-Ma'am...It's not my...my birthday..." Raoul stammered, hands in front of him in defense.

"It's not?" Mooney's tone had an innocence about it, "Why, we all have to be standing here for a reason."

Thunder crashed, and Raoul leapt about a foot in the air. The look on his face was that of sheer terror as he clutched at his chest to quiet his speeding heart.

Oswald fought to contain his laughter.

"Wh-Why?" Raoul asked, "Why are w-w-w-we here?"

"_Don't _play _dumb_, Raoul. You know why. Didn't I ever tell you..._I hate to be double-crossed_?" Mooney sneered. She swung the bat, catching Raoul in the ribs.

Oswald swore he heard Raoul's ribs splinter, and he observed cheerfully as he doubled over. _Oh, Miss Mooney, you are _quite _the inspiration!_

"I-I-I'm so...so..._sooorrrrryyy_, ma'am..." Raoul began to cry, "_I-I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!_"

Mooney struck Raoul again, causing the poor man to blink through the blood that dripped from a gash on his forehead.

Adrenaline ran through Oswald's body at the sight of gore. There was something about witnessing someone bleeding and suffering that gave him joy. Now, if he was the one _causing _the bleeding and suffering, he couldn't begin to imagine the entertainment he'd have.

Mooney beat Raoul, ignoring his screams and whimpers as he fell to his knees. "I still care for you deeply, but I don't believe you that you still care for me anymore." She then kneeled in front of Raoul, glaring into his eyes with the intent of a killer.

Oswald made sure to hold the umbrella over Mooney, grateful for a better look at the double-crosser.

Raoul fought to speak. "I c-c-care for you!"

"Then where's my money?" Mooney demanded slowly, making sure Raoul knew what she meant. She rose again, and Oswald eyed her in amazement. To make ruthless thug cry and babble like an idiot took power.

Oswald was a little envious.

"I'll get it, I'll get it." Raoul kept saying, "I'll get it."

Despite Raoul's pleads, Mooney swung the bat once more, causing him to fall over into a puddle of rain.

_Was he _dead? Oswald found himself leaning closer to Raoul, wanting to inhale the rusty scent of his blood, wanting take in the aura of anguish around him, wanting to study his body as life dwindled—

"_Boy_!" Mooney shouted, and it took a moment for Oswald to realize that she was speaking to _him_. He looked back at Mooney, remembering his job of holding the umbrella over her.

"Sorry." Oswald apologized, returning to Mooney's side.

"If you let this hair go frizzy, you _will_ be." Mooney threatened Oswald with a manicured fingernail.

The last thing Oswald needed was to end up on the ground beside Raoul. Nodding, he lowered his head in shame, cursing himself for drawing Mooney's attention. He sniffled; he was sure to catch cold soon from all of this rain.

"Ma'am." A waiter stepped out of the nightclub, making his way to Mooney. "Detective Bullock is here."

"Keep him warm." Oswald watched as Mooney handed the bat to Butch Glizean, one of the thugs standing around Raoul, before meeting the waiter at the door.

"Yes ma'am." Gilzean replied.

Oswald turned to study the rain drip on the pavement at his feet. Why did he have to be so _stupid_? Why couldn't he be obedient enough?

"Hey Oswald?" Gilzean's gruff voice called, "You want a turn?"

A turn? At hitting Raoul? Oswald wouldn't miss it for the world.

"May I?" Oswald looked up into Butch's face, then down at the handle of the metal bat. He was ecstatic. What a way to brighten his mood!

"Knock yourself out, kid." He handed the bat to Oswald, as Raoul rose to his knees.

So Raoul _was_ alive. Barely. This was going to be enjoyable.

Oswald tightened his fingers around the bat, embracing the flood of power that came with it. He felt more vibrant, more...more..._free_. _This is what it's like...To be Miss Mooney. To possess so much_ power. His smile couldn't have been brighter. "Thank you, Mr. Gilzean."

Raoul sputtered, trying to beg for mercy, as Oswald swung the bat.

The bat collided with Raoul's arm. Raoul's face contorted to match the agony.

Oswald laughed. Thunder seemed to join him. Gilzean chuckled.

_See? I'm not the _only_ one relishing in the moment._

There was a second's pause and a pleading look from Raoul before Oswald attacked again. Raoul slumped over.

Oswald was in hysterics; he could do this all day. Regaining composure, he stuck Raoul again. And again. There was a scream from Raoul.

Raoul's groans of pain was the approval Oswald needed. Pain for the weak was power for the strong.

Oswald gave Raoul a kick. Knowing Raoul couldn't return the favor was glorious.

_Hit him again!_

Oswald rose the bat over Raoul and brought it down on his back. Raoul curled up, gagging on his own blood.

_Again!_

Raoul earned himself another bruise.

_And again!_

The bat met bone.

"Oswald, whoa." Gilzean spoke up.

Oswald looked up from Raoul. Wasn't Gilzean finding this _fun_?

"Yeah, take it easy, Penguin." One of Mooney's henchmen agreed.

Penguin. Penguin. _Penguin_.

That nickname _disgusted_ Oswald. He was instantly taken back to his past, hearing the chants of children as they ridiculed him.

_Penguin, Penguin, Penguin..._

"You know I don't like to be called that." Oswald snapped, baring twisted, yellow teeth.

The henchman could care less. "Ooh, scary."

Oswald gripped the bat so tightly that his hand went numb. _How _dare _you ridicule me!? I'll make sure you—_

"How's everyone doing?" A voice Oswald didn't recognize joined him and the others out back.

Everyone looked over to see a man in a suit.

"Who are you?" Gilzean asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

"James Gordon, GCPD." The man replied, looking suspicious.

"Oh. You came with Harvey, huh? Glad to know you, James." Butch went on, "I'm Butch Gilzean."

"Drop the bat." Gordon told Oswald, and Oswald had half a mind to swing it at him for ruining his merriment.

The bat clattered once it hit the ground. Oswald felt a bit disheartened.

"Ah, come on now. Oswald and Raoul here were just having a little _fun_, weren't you, boys?" Gilzean put a hand on Raoul's shoulder, and Raoul cringed.

"All in fun." Oswald blurted out with a chuckle. Gordon had _no_ idea.

"Fun." Gordon repeated. He wasn't a fan of Oswald's kind of fun.

"No problem." Raoul said. "Fun." To emphasize the point, he put a thumb in the air.

Gilzean laughed, giving Gordon a thumbs-up as well. "You a new guy, huh? How do you like Gotham so far?"

"Well enough." Gordon was all business. He took one last look at everyone before shaking his head. "See you around." He stepped back into the nightclub.

Once Gordon was back inside, Gilzean pushed Raoul to the ground.

And just like that, Oswald went back to being powerless.

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><p><em>That night...<em>

Oswald was transfixed by the front page of the _Gotham Gazette_'s recent issue. His hands grew clammy, smudging some of the newspaper's ink as he read and reread the headline: "WAYNES SHOT DEAD IN ALLEY."

Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed only yesterday, and the newspaper with their story had already found its way into the public. Though the Wayne murders _were_ significant, that was just like the _Gazette_ to have an article on a murder or crime before it even had time to..._marinate_. Those soulless journalists, searching for stories like relentless predators in the grey jungle of the city. At least they were efficient.

_Waynes shot dead in alley. Waynes shot dead in alley..._Those five words imprinted on Oswald's mind suddenly made him dizzy. He swayed on the bar stool he was sitting on, breathing heavily, heart in his throat, as he tried to process what his exact feelings were. He was definitely experiencing shock...with a hint of amusement.

Amusement?

Yes. Though he wouldn't admit it, the gruesome details of the Wayne murders gave him the same childish glee he felt when he beat down Raoul earlier. He couldn't help but smile at the _Gazette's _account on the matter. The Waynes openly walking through an alley after a night at the theater. The masked man holding them at gunpoint for their valuables. The blood. Oh, how he _wished_ he was there! The delightful dread and suspense that must've been lingering in the cold, night air—

"Quite the..._avid_ reader aren't we, Oswald?" The sultry female voice ripped Oswald from his reverie.

Oswald jumped, startled at the sound, his ears heating with embarrassment. He felt like a little child who was caught doing something inappropriate. Glancing upward, he saw Mooney standing before him in her navy-blue, figure-hugging dress which shimmered delicately under the chandeliers of her nightclub.

There was a pause. Mooney lifted her eyebrows, an indication for a response, and Oswald desperately racked his brain for one to give to her.

"I...I truly apologize, Miss Mooney..." Oswald blurted out. An apology? Why was he apologizing? He felt like he should. Shouldn't he?

_Foolish, Oswald! _Foolish!

Mooney smirked. "What's grabbing that attention of yours? Come on, you can tell me." She stepped closer Oswald, heels clacking on the hardwood floor.

Oswald gulped as Mooney stopped beside him, looking over his shoulder at the newspaper in his hands. He immediately hung his head, intimidated by Mooney's power, and he absolutely _hated_ it. "The Waynes were murdered." He squeaked a bit too eagerly, bright eyes briefly acknowledging Mooney before returning their attention to the newspaper.

Darn_! Can't be _too_ eager...Subtlety is sophistication. Sophistication is of the utmost _importance_..._

"Ah, yes...Thomas and Martha Wayne. How _awful_. Such _untimely _deaths! And they left little Bruce all on his _lonesome_..." Mooney announced dramatically, feigning sorrow, thoughtfully tapping her cheek with her fingernail.

Oswald simply nodded, afraid that if he said anything else, he'd accidently reveal how excited the Wayne murders made him. One had to be careful of the emotions they revealed around Mooney. If Mooney sensed a weakness, there was no telling what she would do with it later on.

"Oh, would you look at that. Martha Wayne has wonderful taste. _To die for_." Mooney said absently. "I expected as much."

_Hm? _Oswald nearly snapped his neck to see what Mooney was referring to, and immediately regretted it.

Mooney was holding up a small, plastic bag so it caught the warm light of a nearby chandelier. In the bag was a three-strand pearl necklace. Martha Wayne's necklace.

Oswald let out a small gasp. "M-Miss Mooney! E-Excuse me for asking, but isn't that-?"

"Martha Wayne's necklace?" Mooney finished, taking a moment to admire the glow of the pearls.

Nodding frantically, Oswald didn't mind this display of eagerness. Anyone in his situation would be as eager...right? _Right_? But regardless, he wondered how Mooney _did _come by Martha Wayne's necklace. And if she knew the killer. These were thoughts he really wanted answers to. But he knew better than to voice them. It wasn't his business. He was only here to serve.

"No, my sweet..._Penguin_." Mooney replied, her tone suddenly sinister, "It's a _fake_."

_PENGUIN!?_

At the sound of the unwanted nickname, Oswald's hands turned into fists at his sides, and his eye twitched. He was trying to keep himself from lashing out; going against Mooney was suicide. "M-Miss Mooney, y-you know how much I..._loathe_ th-that name..."

Mooney gave Oswald a look, daring him to strike her. Oswald knew she used the name on purpose, as a reminder for him to know his place._ Mooney_ asked the questions. _Mooney _was in charge. _Mooney_ had the control.

"You want to know what I'm gonna do with this necklace?" Mooney said, ignoring Oswald's seething, "Falcone came up an idea to frame one 'Mario Pepper' for murdering the Waynes. To hide the necklace in a bag of drugs and sell it to the bastard. Pepper, with that rap sheet of his is the _perfect_ bait for Harvey and James Gordon. They'll _certainly_ believe that Pepper killed the Waynes, and when they get rid of him, Falcone can prove to the people of Gotham that they are 'safe and secure.' Because a place like Gotham needs 'law and order,' he says. Ha! Whatever. That won't last. As long as it makes Falcone looks good. And when he looks good, _I _look good."

Oswald couldn't guess why Mooney was telling him all of this. She probably thought that he wouldn't tell anyone because he was her submissive and adoring...ugh..._Penguin_.

Not anymore.

With the Waynes gone, there would be a power struggle in Gotham; everyone fighting like rabid dogs for a chance of what the Waynes left behind, fighting for recognition and power.

Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot was of the latter. With such a classy name, he _deserved_ to be recognized. He didn't want to be another lowlife lackey. He wanted to do something with his life. And to do that in Gotham, one had to have _some_ sort of power.

Mooney had that power.

_Look out, Miss Mooney. There's going to be an uprising. I'm taking control, and you'll _never_ expect _that!


End file.
